I'm Okay, You're Okay
by Chibi Assassin
Summary: Pre-series. With her mother gone, and her father off to war, a sick young Katara is left to take care of herself all alone. But she may not be as alone as she thinks. A bit of an introspective look at how Hakoda's departure affects those left behind.


**A/N:** This story is set days before Hakoda and the rest of the Water Tribe warriors have left the village to fight the Fire Nation, two years before the events of the series.

**Disclaimer:** I, of course, don't own Avatar: The Last Airbender. This series is the brainchild of Michael Dante DiMartino and Bryan Konietzko, and is owned by people who are not me in any way. I'm just having fun playing in their sandbox.

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**I'm Okay, You're Okay**

It was darker in the small room than she had ever remembered it being. She wasn't used to being awake this late at night, and the darkness made the room seem very big, and she felt very small, huddled in her little bed in the corner. Very small and completely alone, like she might be the only person in the whole world, let alone this house.

Katara shut her eyes against the dark and the emptiness, but she knew she wouldn't go back to sleep, not with her whole body shaking from the cold, and definitely not with her stomach rolling and churning, like someone was stirring her insides with a very large spoon. So she sat in bed, shivering, wondering what to do. All the other times she'd ever woken up feeling sick, she would pad across the house to where Mom and Dad slept, and Dad would pick her up and put her in their bed, teasing her gently and telling her funny stories to make her feel better, while Mom tucked her in and checked her temperature and administered wet cloths and generally fixed everything.

Sokka liked to tease her about being babied, but she knew for a fact that he did the exact same thing. In fact, more than once she'd pushed back the curtain to her parents' sleeping area to find her older brother already there, receiving the same treatment, and then they'd all four squeeze into the bed together, and Katara would fall asleep smooshed between her parents and Sokka, warm and safe.

A tear splashed onto Katara's blanket. Was it possible to be homesick without leaving home? She was still in the same place she'd always been. Mom and Dad's room was right where it always was. But it had been a long while since Mom had been in it, and now…

It was hard not to be angry at Dad for leaving. She knew she was supposed to be understanding, even proud, that he had gone off to fight. It was selfish to be angry for something that nobody could control.

But…

But, how _could_ he? How could he leave just when the three of them were starting to be okay again? Just when things were starting to feel, not the same as they'd been before, but at least something close to normal?

Her stomach gave another lurch, and she squeezed her eyes shut more tightly. She considered waking Sokka for help. But she couldn't tell him she was afraid she might throw up. He didn't deal well with vomit, and had always made it a point never to go near Katara when she was this particular kind of sick. Besides, since Dad had left a few days ago, he'd been moody and difficult to talk to. The only time he'd said anything at all to her today was when he'd snapped at her for breaking a bowl while washing the breakfast dishes. She didn't really blame him; she knew he was hurting, too. Still, she figured it was best to leave him alone for now.

So nobody was going to help her. Maybe it was time she stopped waiting for someone else to take care of her and started taking care of herself. Wasn't she almost twelve years old? She could do this.

Slowly, she slid out of bed. She felt shaky and weak, and the room tilted a little when she stood. She had to swallow hard to keep the contents of her stomach where they were supposed to be. But with just a bit more effort than it should have taken, she dragged her empty washbasin next to her bed in case she needed it, like Mom would have done. That hadn't been so hard. More blankets next. Maybe if she could get warm enough, she'd start to feel better.

Feeling a bit more confident, she headed towards the storage alcove off of the living area. It was so quiet. She couldn't even hear the faint sounds of her brother's snoring in the next room, a sound which she'd always found oddly comforting, especially these past few days. With a rush of panic, she thought maybe she really was the only one in the house. "Sokka?" she called softly, in case maybe he was lying awake, like she was. There was no answer. Katara shivered harder. Maybe something had happened to him. Or maybe…maybe the breakfast dish had been the last straw, and he was no longer here at all. Taking a deep breath, she pushed aside the curtain to his room and peered in.

It was empty.

And suddenly she was struck with the sensation she'd been dreading, and then she was running back to her room and the washbasin. She retched again and again, tears streaming down her cheeks as her body shook with heaves, which eventually gave way to wracking sobs. Why had everybody left? Didn't they know she was too young to take care of herself? "Mom!" she managed to choke out through her tears, "Dad! Please! Help me! Don't leave me alone!"

"Shhh. You're okay."

Her sobs stopped abruptly, and she became aware that her hair was being held back from her face, and that there was a hand on her back, rubbing soothing circles. "Hey," Sokka said with a smile, rubbing a tear off of her cheek with a mittened hand. "You done?"

* * *

The afternoon sun woke her, and she opened her eyes to a much brighter room than she'd seen last night. She was alone again, but this time it was okay, because she knew she wouldn't be for long.

As if on cue, her bedroom curtain flapped open, and Sokka walked in, carrying a steaming bowl of something that smelled like sea prunes. "'Morning, Katara," he greeted her, "Still feeling pukey?"

"No," she replied. Her stomach still had that gross, turned-inside-out feeling, but she was pretty sure the worst was over. "I don't think so."

"Good," he said, carefully setting the bowl on her lap. "'Cause I'd hate to waste this soup I worked so hard to make."

"You made this?" Katara asked incredulously. She had never seen him cook anything in her life. As far as she'd been aware, the only thing Sokka knew about cooking was that it eventually led to hot meals.

Sokka pretended to be hurt. "Of course! I have _some_ domestic skills."

Katara giggled. "Not that I've ever witnessed."

"Well, witness it now, Sis. 'Cause it may never happen again." He plucked the spoon from the bowl and handed to her. "Eat it slowly," he cautioned, "I've cleaned up enough throw-up for one day."

He was teasing, but Katara felt a pang of guilt. He'd been up with her most of the night, pressing cold cloths to her forehead and helping her through every round of sickness. "I'm sorry," she murmured. "I know how much you hate-"

"Don't worry about it," he said, ruffling hair. "Just get better so I don't have to do it again."

Katara grinned, and for a moment, the only sound was her slurping cautiously at her soup. She thought Sokka would leave the room again once she was settled, but instead he sat down next to her bed, apparently making himself comfortable, and watched her eat.

Katara paused, a spoonful of soup inches from her mouth. "I swear, Sokka, I'm not going to make another mess."

"I know. I just…" he suddenly became very preoccupied with a patch in the knee of his pants, tracing around the seam with his finger. Finally, he looked up. "I'm sorry. About the breakfast bowl thing, and…and the generally being a jerk thing."

"It's okay," she assured him. "This whole situation is just messed up. And I'm sorry, too."

Sokka blinked in surprise. "What are _you _sorry for?"

Katara could feel tears prickling her eyes. "I'm sorry for ruining things for you. That you didn't get to go with Dad because you're stuck here. Taking care of me."

Sokka gave a rueful laugh. "Dad wouldn't have let me go anyway, Katara. He kept me here because he thought I was too young to do anything but get myself killed. And the truth is, I probably am. And…" he dropped his gaze back to his lap. His next words were barely audible. "And maybe that hurts almost as much as him leaving."

"But we _do_ need you here," Katara insisted. "You're the only one left who's had any kind of battle training at all. The whole tribe's counting on you keep us safe while everyone's gone. And even if that wasn't true…well, _I_ need you."

He sighed. "I'm not doing a very good job taking care of you. I didn't even notice you were sick when I checked in on you last night."

That made Katara look up from her soup. "You checked on me?"

"Well, yeah. I heard a noise outside, and I went to check it out, and patrol the area. 'Cause, you know, I'm the man of the tribe now." Katara rolled her eyes but let him continue. "But before I left, I checked on you. To make sure you were safe, you know…to make sure…"

"To make sure I was there?"

Sokka's face broke into a smile. "Yeah. And you were asleep when I left. I thought you were okay."

"I'm okay _now_. You took great care of me, even when I was freaking out."

Sokka shrugged. "You had reason to freak out. But you know, you're not alone, Katara. Everyone in the tribe is going to be looking out for us. And you've got Gran Gran—who stopped by this morning while you were sleeping, by the way, and who will be coming back to cook us a better dinner than I could. You've got plenty of friends. And," He offered her a winning smile. "You've got me."

"I know. I just…I miss Mom and Dad so much."

"I know," Sokka replied. "I do, too." He took one of her hands in his and squeezed it. "I can't be Mom. Or Dad. But I _can_ take care of you. Or at least," he amended, "I can try."

"Thanks, Sokka. I know you will." She squeezed his hand back and frowned. "Hey, what's this?" She turned his hand over to inspect a bright red patch on his palm. Sokka winced when she pressed down on it, the skin briefly turning white where her finger had been. "This looks like a burn. What happened?"

Sokka shrugged. "I splashed some soup on myself while I was stirring it. No big deal. I blew on it for a few minutes; it should be fine."

"You _blew_ on it? And you thought that would help? Sokka! You need cold water on that right away! Here." Still holding his hand, she got up gingerly from the bed and led him out of the room and into the cooking area. The bucket containing the day's water still sat on the table, and she used it to fill the nearest bowl, in which she shoved her brother's injured hand.

"Keep that there," she instructed, and rummaged around the shelves that had been built into the wall until she found what she was looking for.

"Seaweed?" Sokka asked with suspicion. "What are you planning to do with _that?_ Make me some kind of medicinal salad?"

Katara smacked him lightly on the head. "No, you dope! Give me your hand." He obeyed, and she began wetting long strips of brown seaweed and wrapping them around his hand. "This will keep the area damp, which will help it heal. And the algae in the seaweed will keep the inflammation down."

"Oh," he said, watching her work. "Where'd you learn that?"

"Mom," she answered, tying off the last of the slippery bandaging and releasing his wrist. "And she learned it from Gran-Gran. How does that feel? Too tight?"

Sokka flexed his fingers, looking over her handiwork. "No, it's…it feels good. Thanks." He looked at her with new respect. "I didn't know you were so good at this stuff."

Katara shrugged. "It's no big deal."

"It kind of is."

"Well," Katara said. "I can't be Mom, either. But maybe we can take care of each other."

Sokka grinned. "I like that." He looked up, his eyes meeting hers. "We're gonna be okay, you and me."

"Yeah," Katara agreed. "We are." And for the first time in a very long time, she knew it was true.

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**A/N:** Thank you so much for taking the time to read this story! Feel free to leave any comments and critiques. I always appreciate feedback on how I can make my writing better, so don't hesitate to be a little brutal!


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